PS 

3505 

.L23 

M356 

1908 


•  •  •  TTtiG « •  • 

Major's  Story 


BY 

ANNIE  M.  L.  CLARK 


George  Washington  Flon&jers-"  ^ 
Memorial  Collection <r*-?  ~  ' 

DUKE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

ESTABLISHED  BY  THE 
FAMILY  OF 
COLONEL  FLOWERS 


THE  MAJOR'S  STORY 


By  ANNIE  M.  L.  CLARK 

Author  of  "The  Alcotts  in  Harvard,"  "Olive  Loring's 
Mission,"  "Elias  Sawyer  of  the  Nashawog 
Plantation,"  Etc.,  Etc. 


"  Love  rules  the  court,  the  camp,  the  grove, 
And  man  below,  and  saints  above  : 
For  love  is  heaven,  and  heaven  is  love." 


LANCASTER,  MASS.,  U.  S.  A. 
Printed  for  the  Autror  by  The  W.  J.  Coulter  Press, 
Glinton,  Massachusetts. 
1908 


CftX 


to  the  beloved  friends  of  the  lancaster  current 
Topics  Club,  and  The  Clinton  Literature  Class, 
this  little  story  is  most  gratefully  and  affection- 
ately dedicated,  by  the  author  


INTRODUCTION 


IT  is  often  said  that  4 'Truth  is  stranger  than  fiction," 
a  saying  verified  in  the  following  story  of  real  life, 
in  which  the  seemingly  most  improbable  incidents  are 
the  really  true  ones. 

All  the  persons  concerned  in  the  tale  have  passed  on, 
so  no  one  will  be  troubled  at  the  telling,  and  the  Major 
shall  tell  the  story  himself. 


Digitized 

1  by 

the  Internet 

Archive 

in  2015 

https://archive.org/details/nriajorsstory01clar 


The  Major's  Story 


It  was  morning  in  New  Orleans,  that 
city  of  perpetual  summer;  birds  were  sing- 
ing as  if  their  very  existence  depended  upon 
filling  the  air  with  melody ;  the  chorus  led 
by  that  pollyglot  of  all  the  feathered  song- 
sters, the  mocking-bird. 

Roses  ran  riot  everywhere — camelias 
and  jasmines,  magnolias  and  olives,  orange 
blooms  and  oleanders,  each  gave  its  quota 
of  beauty  and  fragrance,  while  thousands 
upon  thousands  of  wall -flowers  added  their 
subtle,  seductive  sweetness  to  the  already 
heavily  laden  breezes. 

It  was  not  very  long  after  the  protracted 
investment  of  Vicksburg  had  ended  in  a 
surrender,  and  in  company  with  several  of 
my  fellow  officers,  I  was  spending  part  of 


8 


my  welcome  and  much  needed  furlough  in 
the  Crescent  City,  making  my  headquarters 
at  the  old  St.  Charles  Hotel,  which  brought 
me  in  easy  distance  to  the  places  of  most 
interest. 

Among  the  pleasant  acquaintances  I 
made  at  the  hotel  was  a  Mr.  Allan  from 
Chicago,  a  man  of  middle  age,  who  with  his 
son,  a  lad  of  perhaps  seventeen,  was  spend- 
ing a  short  time  in  the  city,  partly  for  busi- 
ness and  partly  for  pleasure.  He  was  a 
manufacturer  of  machinery,  and  evidently 
a  man  of  means. 

On  this  particular  morning  he  had  asked 
me  to  take  a  stroll  with  him,  and  reaching 
Chartres  Street  we  had  stopped  to  look  at 
the  beautiful  cathedral  of  St.  Louis,  and 
the  curious  old  court  houses,  built  by  the 
Spaniards  when  Louisiana  was  a  Spanish 
province,  and  quaintly  Moorish  in  their 
style  of  architecture. 

The  great  clock  of  the  cathedral  struck 
nine,  and  passing  on  down  St.  Anne  Street, 
past  the  Pontalba  Buildings,  their  iron  ver- 


9 


andas  thickly  hung  with  blooming  vines, 
we  turned  into  the  square  and  walked  on 
past  the  Jackson  statue,  Mr.  Allan  remark- 
ing as  we  neared  it,  u  Clark  Mills  achieved 
a  triumph  when  he  made  that ;  you  know 
it  is  said  to  be  the  first  statue  ever  made  of 
a  horse  in  the  act  of  rearing." 

Reaching  a  seat  shaded  by  an  immense 
magnolia,  covered  with  its  wax- like  blos- 
soms, my  companion  said,  "I  had  a  purpose 
in  asking  you  to  walk  with  me  this  morn- 
ing; will  you  sit  here  with  me  and  let  me 
tell  you  about  it?" 

"With  pleasure,"  I  answered,  inwardly 
puzzled  at  the  seriousness  of  his  manner. 

For  a  little  while  he  was  silent  as  though 
loath  to  begin,  but  at  last  with  evident  effort 
he  said :  4 'Twenty -five  years  ago  I  graduated 
from  Harvard,  and  having  no  taste  for  either 
law,  medicine  or  the  ministry,  I  decided  to 
become  a  practical  machinist,  and  having 
some  cousins  in  this  city,  I  concluded  to 
come  here.  I  should  have  said  my  home 
was  in  Ohio,  and  I  hardly  realized  the  con- 


10 


ditions  here  which  made  my  plan  a  some- 
what unwise  one.  I  had  not  however  the 
pronounced  ideas  in  regard  to  slavery  I  now 
have,  and  had  I  left  love  alone,  even  the 
fact  that  I  was  a  Northener  might  not  have 
proved  a  great  obstacle  to  my  success. 

"One  of  the  wealthiest  citizens  of  the  city 
was  a  haughty  aristocrat  of  French  descent, 
Alphonse  Gordon,  and  my  ill  fate  led  me  to 
fall  desperately  in  love  with  his  only  daugh- 
ter, one  of  the  very  loveliest  girls  I  ever 
saw.  I  met  her  at  an  evening  party  to 
which  my  cousin  took  me  soon  after  my 
arrival,  and  I  felt  my  fate  was  sealed.  I 
well  knew  how  unwise  it  was  for  me  to  think 
of  asking  the  lovely  heiress  of  so  much 
wealth,  and  within  whose  veins  flowed  the 
bluest  blood  New  Orleans  could  boast,  to 
share  the  fortunes  of  one  like  me,  whose 
life  for  years  must  be  one  of  effort;  but 
when  was  a  youth  in  love  wise0?  And  I 
surely  had  a  good  excuse,  for  Louise  Gordon 
was  beautiful  enough  to  turn  the  head  of  a 
wiser  man  than  I  was.    It  so  happened  that 


11 


we  were  often  thrown  into  each  other's 
society,  and  it  was  not  long  before  I  told 
her  of  my  love  and  received  the  assur- 
ance that  she  returned  it  in  full  measure. 
We  were  very  soon  convinced  that  her 
father  disapproved  of  our  acquaintance,  but 
foolishly  yielding  to  what  we  both  knew  to 
be  a  false  hope,  that  if  we  were  really  mar- 
ried, he  would  forgive  us.  and  urged  on  by 
our  impetuous  love,  we  went  one  evening 
to  a  little  chapel  in  the  outskirts  of  the 
city  and  were  married. 

"From  Mrs.  Gordon's  manner,  half 
frightened,  half  affectionate.  I  feel  sure 
Louise  must  have  told  her  what  we  had 
done,  and  for  a  little  while  we  enjoyed  a 
sort  of  fearful  happiness,  while  we  waited 
for  a  favorable  time  to  divulge  our  secret, 
but  that  time  never  came. 

"One  day  several  weeks  after  we  were 
wedded  I  met  Mr.  Gordon  on  the  street;  he 
stopped,  and  with  a  look  which  seemed  a 
little  short  of  fiendish,  said  very  curtly.  'It 
seems  to  me  it  will  be  the  best  thing  for 


12 


your  health  to  go  North ;  New  Orleans  is 
likely  to  have  a  bad  effect  upon  you.'  I 
knew  instantly  what  that  meant,  it  was  a 
threat,  and  a  deadly  one,  and  having  no  de- 
sire to  die  just  then,  I  concluded  it  was  best 
to  hasten  my  departure.  I  wanted  to  see 
my  wife  before  leaving  the  city,  but  I  found 
all  my  efforts  to  do  so  frustrated,  and  at 
last,  after  a  twice  repeated  threatening  let- 
ter from  Mr.  Gordon,  I  was  forced  to  leave 
without  either  seeing  or  hearing  from  her. 
Day  after  day  I  wrote  to  her,  assuring  her 
of  my  undying  affection,  and  asking  her  to 
love  and  trust  me  till  such  a  time  when  she 
could  join  me  in  a  Northern  home;  but  I 
never  received  one  word  of  reply,  and  to 
this  day  I  have  never  heard  directly  .from 
her.  My  relatives  did  not  know  of  our  mar- 
riage, so  I  was  somewhat  guarded  in  my 
enquiries  of  them,  but  they  did  write  that 
Louise  had  been  very  ill,  then  that  she  was 
better ;  after  that  her  name  was  never  men  - 
tioned,  and  as  letters  passed  very  infre- 
quently between  us  I  was  soon  left  in  total 


13 


ignorance  of  anything  that  might  have  hap- 
pened. 

u  Sometimes  I  thought  I  would  go  back 
and  endeavor  to  effect  a  reconciliation  with 
her  father,  and  win  his  consent  to  take  her 
home  with  me,  but  I  well  knew  this  plan 
was  hopeless,  and  soon  gave  it  up. 

UI  subscribed  for  the  New  Orleans  Pica- 
yune, hoping  in  its  pages  I  might  see  some 
mention  of  the  Grordon  family,  and  not  long 
after  my  return  North  I  read  an  account  of 
a  duel  in  which  Mr.  Grordon  killed  his  an- 
tagonist, a  young  German  who  had  made 
some  outspoken  remarks  against  slavery. 
Public  opinion  upheld  Mr.  Grordon,  and  I 
saw  clearly  what  my  own  fate  would  be  if 
I  placed  myself  in  his  power.  Sometimes 
I  called  my  fear  cowardly,  and  was  ready  to 
risk  everything  to  gain  my  wife,  and  I  don't 
know  what  desperate  thing  I  might  have 
attempted  had  I  not  read  in  the  Picayune 
the  death  of  Louise  Gordon,  at  the  age  of 
nineteen,  and  although  my  Louise  was  a 
year  older  than  this,  I  put  it  down  as  a 


14 


newspaper  mistake  and  felt  no  doubt  that 
my  wife  was  dead.  I  had  told  none  of  my 
relatives  of  my  marriage,  and  up  to  this  day 
I  have  never  mentioned  the  subject,  and 
five  years  after  I  returned  North  I  married 
again,  a  young  lady  of  Chicago,  where  I  had 
located  myself  in  business. 

"To -day  I  have  been  startled  out  of  this 
belief  in  Louise's  death,  and  I  have  great 
need  of  help  and  advice ;  there  is  something 
about  you  which  leads  me  to  trust  you ;  will 
you  be  my  friend?" 

I  silently  held  out  my  hand ;  the  sadness 
of  the  story,  the  pathetic  way  in  which  it 
was  told,  robbed  me  of  the  power  of  speech. 
He  pressed  my  hand  warmly  and  went  on : 
"I  am  convinced  she  is  not  dead,  and  am 
sure  I  have  seen  her.  I  went  yesterday  to 
the  cemetery  just  out  of  the  city  to  see  about 
a  monument  I  have  been  commissioned  to 
have  erected  over  the  grave  of  a  cousin  who 
formerly  lived  here,  and  whose  daughter 
was  not  able  to  come  herself  to  see  about  it. 
In  my  rambles  about  the  grounds  I  found  a 


15 


tall  shaft  to  the  memory  of  Alphonse  Gor- 
don, his  wife  and  two  sons,  but  no  mention 
made  of  Louise.  Indeed,  the  four  graves 
seemed  to  be  all  there  were  in  the  enclosure. 
This  puzzled  me,  and  when  on  my  return 
to  the  city  I  met  a  middle-aged  lady  with 
just  such  glorious  dark  eyes  as  Louise  had, 
the  feeling  grew  to  a  certainty  that  she  was 
yet  alive,  and  that  I  had  seen  her." 

"But,"  I  interrupted,  "in  this  land  of 
dark -eyed  loveliness,  eyes  could  not  be 
much  of  a  proof ;  was  there  nothing  else 
for  you  to  base  your  belief  upon?" 

He  hesitated.  "Nothing  tangible,  a 
something  plain  to  me,  but  nothing  I  could 
make  clear  to  any  one  else.  But  I  must  be 
sure  about  it,  and  I  want  you  should  help 
me;  I  want  you  should  find  out  who  the 
lady  I  saw  is." 

"How  can  I,"  I  exclaimed,  "when  I 
don't  know  where  she  lives  ?  Indeed  I  do 
not  know  a  single  lady  in  the  city  excepting 
those  I  have  met  at  the  hotel.  If  you  only 
knew  where  she  lives  it  would  be  different/ ' 


10 


uOh !  but  I  do  know ;  I  followed  her  and 
saw  where  she  evidently  lived ;  it  is,"  he 
continued,  after  consulting  his  note-book, 
u116  St.  Louis  Street,  and  I  want  you  to  go 
and  see  her  for  me." 

"But  what  excuse  can  I  make  for  thus 
intruding  on  a  perfect  stranger'?" 

"Why,  if  she  proves  to  be  Louise,  just 
tell  her  as  much  of  what  I  have  told  you  as 
you  please,  and  if  I  am  mistaken  you  can 
surely  think  of  something  to  say.  But  I 
must  hnotv;  the  horror  of  the  thought  so 
possesses  me  I  can  neither  eat  nor  sleep." 

For  a  little  while  we  sat  in  silence,  then 
I  said,  "I  will  go,  but  I  cannot  go  alone; 
Colonel  Bent,  who  is  better  acquainted  here 
than  I  am,  will  go  with  me  I  am  sure,  and 
if  so  we  will  go  this  morning." 

After  a  little  further  talk,  I  went  to  find 
the  colonel,  who  readily  consented  to  ac- 
company me,  and  we  started,  leaving  Mr. 
Allan  at  the  hotel  to  await  our  return.  I 
can't  say  I  felt  very  happy  at  the  prospect 
of  this  interview  with  a  stranger  under  such 


17 


peculiar  circumstances,  but  Colonel  Bent 
looked  upon  it  as  what  he  called  ua  regular 
lark,"  and  rather  troubled  me  with  his  un- 
seemly jokes. 

We  easily  found  the  house,  a  queer, 
rambling  old  mansion,  covered  with  flower- 
ing vines,  and  set  back  in  a  lovely  garden, 
where  fragrance  and  beauty,  sunshine  and 
shade,  and  the  cool  drip  of  water  as  it  fell 
into  a  marble  basin,  and  then  from  the 
overflow  sped  away  in  a  tiny  brook,  united 
in  making  a  charming  picture. 

A  pretty  quadroon  girl  answered  my  ring, 
and  when  I  asked  for  Miss  Gordon,  and 
then  for  Mrs.  Allan,  told  me  most  em- 
phatically that  no  such  persons  lived  there. 
I  was  turning  away  when  a  sweet  voice 
called,  uAsk  the  gentlemen  in,  Letty,  I  will 
be  down  in  a  minute." 

So  we  were  ushered  into  a  pleasant  sit- 
ting-room, where  we  were  soon  joined  by 
a  lovely  woman  of  evidently  some  forty -five 
years,  who  looked  the  surprise  she  must 
have  felt  when  I  asked,  "Am  I  addressing 


18 


Mrs.  Allan?"  There  was  a  most  pathetic 
quiver  in  her  voice  as  she  answered,  "That 
was  once  my  name;  I  am  now  Mrs.  Lans- 
downe.  I  do  not  recognize  you."  "No,"  I 
said,  "you  never  saw  me  before,"  and  then 
as  briefly  as  possible  I  told  the  object  of  my 
mission,  adding,  "and  now  will  you  tell  me 
something  about  yourself,  as  my  friend  will 
be  anxious  to  hear." 

Her  lips  quivered  as  she  answered,  "I 
am  a  widow ;  ten  years  after  Richard  went 
away,  when  for  all  that  time  not  a  syllable 
from  him  had  ever  reached  me,  my  father 
insisted  that  I  should  apply  for  a  divorce, — 
he  had  been  obliged  to  own  my  marriage, 
because  of  the  birth  of  my  son, — and  a  year 
later  I  married  Mr.  Lansdowne,  a  friend 
from  childhood,  who  knew  my  sad  story ; 
he  died  five  years  later,  and  my  father  a  few 
months  afterwards — my  brothers  and  moth- 
er had  all  died  years  before — and  it  was 
only  after  my  father's  death  that  I  learned 
how  I  had  been  deceived  about  Richard. 
Evidently  he  had  written  to  me  many  times. 


19 


I  found  in  my  father's  desk  several  letters, 
which  he  had  failed  to  destroy,  and  from 
them  I  could  not  but  see  that  there  must 
have  been  many  more.  But  it  was  too  late 
for  me  to  make  any  attempt  to  find  out  any- 
thing about  Richard,  even  if  I  had  known 
where  to  address  him." 

"And  the  notice  of  your  death — was  that 
to  deceive  Mr.  Allan?" 

"Oh,  that  was  my  cousin ;  Richard  never 
saw  her.  She  came  back  from  Paris  just 
after  he  went  away,  and  so  of  course  he 
knew  nothing  about  her." 

"Have  you  children?"  I  asked. 

"Only  one,  Richard's  son,  whose  name 
is  also  Richard.  He  is  now  in  the  army  at 
Richmond;  but  when  can  I  see  Richard? 
This  all  seems  like  a  strange  dream." 

Then  it  was  arranged  that  Mr.  Allan 
should  call  during  the  late  afternoon,  and  I 
went  back  to  the  St.  Charles  to  tell  the  re- 
sult of  my  call.  Of  course  Mr.  Allan  was 
anxiously  looking  for  me,  and  when  to  end 
my  story  I  told  him  of  his  son,  a  soldier  in 


20 


the  rebel  army,  his  surprise  and  excitement 
were  almost  beyond  bounds,  and  over  and 
over  again  he  exclaimed,  "My  son,  my  son, 
I  must  have  him." 

At  his  request  I  went  with  Mr.  Allan  to 
make  the  call  arranged  for,  but  strolled 
about  the  lovely  garden  while  the  so  long 
separated  pair  had  a  long  and  what  must 
have  been  a  painfully  sweet  interview. 
When  they  parted  it  was  in  silence,  but  on 
our  way  back  to  the  hotel  Mr.  Allan  con- 
fided to  me  his  plans. 

"I  shall,"  he  said,  "try  to  get  my  son 
discharged  from  the  army.  I  think  I  will 
write  a  letter  to  President  Lincoln,  telling 
him  the  whole  story  and  asking  him  to  write 
to  Jefferson  Davis  at  Richmond,  appealing 
to  him  as  one  kind  heart  to  another,  in  view 
of  the  unusual  circumstances,  to  send  my 
son  back  to  his  mother.  Louise  says  if 
such  a  letter  can  be  procured,  she  will  her- 
self take  it  to  Richmond,  if  she  can  be 
promised  safe  conduct.  Then  if  she  is  suc- 
cessful I  shall  take  him  home  with  me." 


21 


"And  rob  her  of  her  only  comfort!"  I 
could  not  help  the  remark  for  my  heart  had 
gone  out  to  the  sweet  woman  who  had  borne 
so  many  sorrows.  " She  wishes  it  so,"  he 
answered.  "She  tells  me  that  though  free 
from  pain  the  doctors  have  told  her, — and 
she  has  consulted  the  best  specialists, — that 
she  can  hardly  live  a  year,  and  it  will  re- 
move her  last  cause  for  anxiety  if  he  is  with 
me." 

So  the  letter  was  written  to  that  great- 
hearted friend  of  all  sorrowful  ones,  and  in 
due  time  an  answer  was  received,  and  then 
preparations  were  quickly  made  for  Mrs. 
Lansdowne  to  start  on  her  mission. 

We  all  know  the  stories  of  the  make- 
shifts resorted  to  by  our  Southern  sisters, 
to  supply  the  lack  of  many  things  we  con- 
sider requisite  for  every -day  comfort,  and 
when  it  was  learned  that  Mrs.  Lansdowne 
was  going  to  Richmond,  many  were  the 
little  packages  she  was  asked  to  carry ;  even 
her  travelling  cloak,  a  quite  unneedful  gar- 
ment, the  weather  was  so  warm,  was  made 


22 


of  a  fine  piece  of  army  grey,  with  a  cape 
almost  as  long  as  the  cloak  itself,  and  cut 
into  as  little  as  possible,  really  containing 
cloth  enough  for  a  full  suit,  and  which  was 
merely  a  consignment  from  a  New  Orleans 
wife  to  her  husband  in  Richmond. 

As  soon  as  possible  she  started  under 
convoy  of  a  flag  of  truce,  and  then  the  weary 
days  of  waiting  began.  To  while  away  the 
time  Mr.  Allan  proposed  a  trip  to  Cuba, 
which  invitation  I  was  glad  to  accept  as  I  was 
still  so  much  of  an  invalid  as  to  be  unable  to 
take  up  my  duties  in  the  army  again.  Mr. 
Allan  was  frightfully  nervous,  and  I  could 
see  his  thoughts  were  much  concerned  with 
his  wife  to  whom  he  had  written  the  strange 
story,  and  the  question  could  not  but  be 
constantly  with  him  as  to  how  she  would 
bear  it.  Harold,  the  son,  seemed  to  think 
that  it  would  be  u  great  fun,"  as  he  expressed 
it,  to  have  a  brother,  but  his  light-hearted 
nonsense  must  have  been  somewhat  of  a 
trial  to  his  anxious  father. 

Mr.  Allan  had  been  married  several 


23 


years  before  Louise  procured  her  divorce, 
and  now  the  question  of  the  legality  of  Ms 
marriage  stared  him  in  the  face ;  this  was 
a  serious  matter,  and  he  knew  how  it  must 
be  troubling  his  wife. 

We  came  back  to  New  Orleans  the  day 
before  Mrs.  Lansdowne  reached  home,  and 
my  friend  scarcely  ate  or  slept,  and  when 
the  summons  came  for  him  to  go  and  meet 
his  son  he  was  so  overcome  he  begged  me 
to  go  with  him. 

Of  course  Harold  accompanied  us,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  his  presence  saved  the  inter- 
view from  being  utterly  pathetic.  He  was 
a  happy  soul,  and  the  idea  of  having  a 
brother  had  so  appealed  to  him,  he  was  all 
ready  with  a  hearty  welcome.  Mrs.  Lans- 
downe was  delighted  with  him,  and  he  fell 
an  immediate  prey  to  her  charms  of  manner, 
so  there  was  less  stiffness  than  one  might 
have  feared.  The  older  son  was  much  like 
his  mother  in  face,  but  with  little  tricks  in 
smile  and  manner  that  reminded  one  con- 
stantly of  Mr.  Allan.   He  treated  his  mother 


24 


with  a  pretty  mixture  of  tender  gallantry 
and  loving  reverence  very  pleasant  to  see. 

All  the  little  group  tried  hard  to  be 
cheerful,  but  it  was  inevitable  that  to  the 
older  ones  there  must  be  an  under- current 
of  sadness. 

Mr.  Allan  delayed  his  departure  for 
home  to  first  hear  from  his  wife  in  relation 
to  the  strange,  sad  tale  he  had  written  to 
her,  and  one  day  he  came  to  my  room  with 
an  open  letter  in  his  hand,  which  he  handed 
to  me  with  the  remark,  "This  is  really  too 
sacred  for  any  eyes  but  my  own,  but  you 
have  known  so  much  about  this  whole  sor- 
rowful affair,  I  want  you  should  read  it,  and 
see  what  an  angel  I  have  for  a  wife ; ' '  and 
I  read  until  my  eyes  were  well-nigh  blinded 
with  tears. 

"My  dear,  dear  husband: 

"How  sorry  I  am  for  you,  and  at  the 
same  time  how  glad  I  am ;  sorry  for  all  the 
pain  and  regret  you  have  had  to  endure,  and 
must  still  endure,  and  glad  that  you  have 
found  another  son,  and  you  may  be  sure  I 
will  give  him  a  mother's  welcome.    But  0, 


25 


Richard,  have  I  really  any  right  to  say  even 
this?  Am  I  really  your  wife?  We  were 
married  when  your  Louise  was  certainly 
your  wife,  and  if  so,  what  am  I?  I  don't 
blame  you,  but  I  feel  so  disgraced  I  can 
hardly  think;  and  then  our  children,  what 
will  their  standing  be  ?  I  can't  bear  to  think 
of  their  having  to  bear  any  disgrace  for  this 
unintentional  mistake.  It  can't  really  be 
called  a  sin,  can  it?  We  thought  we  were 
doing  right,  but  what  shall  we  do  now? 
Sometimes  it  seems  as  if  my  heart  would 
break;  I  want  to  see  you,  and  yet  I  don't 
know  as  I  have  any  right  to  my  place  in 
your  home.  I  can  hardly  wait  to  see  you, 
and  I  dread  it  too,  for  I  cannot  help  but 
think  that  maybe  the  old  love  for  your  first 
wife  may  be  stronger  than  you  feel  for  me, 
and  if  I  have  never  truly  been  your  wife 
then  you  could  marry  her  and  be  happy. 
Your  happiness  is  more  to  me  than  my  own, 
and  if  you  love  her  best  I  will  go  away  if  it 
breaks  my  heart.  O,  come  soon  and  let  me 
know  the  worst,  for  I  cannot  bear  this  sus- 
pense much  longer.  I  must  stop,  for  the 
more  I  write  the  more  frantic  and  perplexed 
I  am. 

"Yours  forever,  no  matter  what  comes, 

\  'Fannie." 

I  laid  down  the  letter  with  my  whole 
heart  throbbing  with  sympathy  for  the  poor 


26 


woman  thus  suddenly  overwhelmed  with  so 
strange  a  calamity,  and  turning  to  my  com- 
panion asked  what  certainly  was  a  very 
foolish  question,  "What  will  you  do?  I 
have  never  thought  of  the  matter  in  this 
aspect  before,  and  to  Mrs.  Allan  there  alone 
-    it  must  be  truly  awful." 

The  light  that  rilled  my  friend's  face  was 
beautiful  to  see,  as  he  replied,  4 'What  will 
I  do?  Why,  I  shall  go  home  as  soon  as  I 
possibly  can,  and  love  her  to  the  end  of  our 
lives  here,  and  after  that  I  believe  to  all 
eternity.  I  shall  consult  the  best  authority 
when  I  get  home,  and  if  it  is  thought  wisest 
I  shall  be  remarried  privately,  so  as  to  make 
as  little  talk  as  possible.  I  have  no  feeling 
toward  Mrs.  Lansdowne  other  than  a  tender 
sympathy,  and  something  the  same  feeling 
we  have  towards  the  loved  and  gone  before ; 
nor  do  I  think  she  feels  otherwise  towards 
me.  She  has  told  me  how  tenderly  attached 
she  was  to  Mr.  Lansdowne,  and  I  think  she 
cherishes  his  memory  as  the  sweetest  part 
of  her  life.    Even  her  son  seems  to  occupy 


27 


the  second  place  in  her  affections.  Fannie 
is  the  love  of  my  mature  manhood ;  she  sat  - 
isfies  every  wish  of  my  heart.  I  hope  you 
will  sometime  see  what  a  well-nigh  perfect 
woman  she  is.  But  now  I  must  go  and 
allay  her  fears  as  well  as  I  can  by  a  tele- 
gram." 

Two  days  later  the  little  party  started 
for  Chicago,  and  for  the  remainder  of  the 
time  I  staid  in  the  city — a  little  over  a  week 
— I  made  a  point  of  calling  each  day  on  Mrs. 
Lansdowne.  as  she  seemed  to  desire  to  have 
me  do  so.  She  was  less  sad  than  I  feared 
she  would  be;  she  was  at  ease  about  her 
son.  and  the  mystery  and  doubt  which  had 
so  overshadowed  her  youth  had  all  been 
cleared  away,  she  was  at  peace  with  all  men. 
and  her  clays  were  devoted  to  doing  good  to 
those  who  stood  in  need  of  aid.  More  than 
once  she  spoke  of  her  probable  nearness  to 
the  other  life,  never  with  sadness,  but  with 
a  serene  trust  and  steadfast  hope  of  a 
blessed  hereafter.  And  so  I  bade  her  fare- 
well, to  see  her  no  more  on  earth. 


28 


Mr.  Allan  asked  me  to  stop  on  my  way 
North  and  spend  a  few  days  with  him  at  his 
Chicago  home,  an  invitation  I  was  very  glad 
to  accept.  I  found  his  wife  all  he  had 
painted  her,  one  of  the  loveliest  women  I 
ever  saw.  He  told  me  it  was  thought  best 
that  they  should  be  remarried,  all  the  more 
that  the  story  had  leaked  out,  as  it  could 
not  help  but  do  in  consequence  of  the  pres- 
ence of  the  new  son,  and  it  had  been 
arranged  that  the  ceremony  should  take 
place  on  the  evening  of  my  arrival.  It  was 
a  solemn  as  well  as  a  pathetic  scene — the 
husband  and  wife  of  some  twenty  years' 
tender  affection,  again  pledging  their  troth, 
with  their  children  beside  them.  It  seemed 
to  me  a  particularly  holy  hour.  I  have 
often  heard  mention  made  of  the  indescrib- 
able look  of  trust  and  sweetness  that  illu- 
mines a  young  bride's  face  when  she  stands 
at  the  altar,  but  no  young  bride  ever  wore  a 
more  lovely  expression  than  did  Mrs.  Allan. 

As  the  years  went  by  I  was  often  a  guest 
in  my  friend's  beautiful  home,  and  I  never 


29 


entirely  lost  the  feeling  that  of  all  those  con- 
cerned in  this  tragic  story,  Mrs.  Allan  bore 
for  a  time  the  heaviest  cross. 

Mrs.  Lansdowne  passed  quietly  away  a 
few  months  after  we  bade  her  farewell,  and 
her  son  found  in  his  new  home  a  true  moth  - 
er's  affection.  Then  came  a  series  of  be- 
reavements, which  at  last  left  him  alone  of 
all  the  family.  Mr.  Allan  died  suddenly  of 
apoplexy,  and  when  the  next  morning 
dawned,  his  devoted  wife  was  found  kneel- 
ing beside  him,  her  head  resting  on  his 
pulseless  bosom,  dead  also. 

The  only  daughter  died  a  year  later,  and 
soon  afterwards  the  younger  son  was  killed 
in  a  railroad  accident,  so  Richard,  who  had 
inherited  his  mother's  great  wealth,  also 
became  possessed  of  all  his  father  had  left. 
He  had  married  an  heiress,  beautiful  in  face 
and  character,  and  for  a  few  years  all  went 
well,  and  during  the  few  visits  I  made  them 
I  thought  their  home-life  beyond  criticism. 
Two  children  blessed  their  union,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  there  was  nothing  to  mar  the 
bliss  of  this  truly  happy  home. 


30 


Then  there  came  whispers  of  unfaithful- 
ness to  his  lovely  wife,  and  of  his  wasting 
time  and  means  on  unworthy  companions, 
and  later  of  gambling  and  reckless  betting. 
Soon  these  whispers  proved  undoubted  cer- 
tainties. Then  one  of  the  lovely  children, 
a  little  boy  of  seven,  died  after  a  brief  illness, 
and  the  mother  was  alone  through  her 
hours  of  agonized  anxiety  and  distress, 
while  he  who  should  have  been  her  support 
and  shared  her  cares  and  sorrow,  was  be- 
yond reach,  having  gone  on  a  long  cruise 
with  some  of  the  vile  companions  who  were 
fast  accomplishing  his  ruin.  Alone  she 
watched  beside  her  darling's  bed  of  suffer- 
ing; alone  she  saw  him  draw  his  last  flut- 
tering breath ;  alone  she  laid  the  precious 
little  form  in  the  grave,  and  alone  she  went 
back  to  her  desolate  home.  She  wrote  to 
me  in  her  anguish,  and  I  reached  her  as 
soon  as  I  possibly  could .  She  was  well  -  nigh 
heart-broken,  and  the  future  seemed  to  hold 
no  ray  of  light.  "What  shall  I  do?"  was 
the  question  she  asked  again  and  again. 


31 


I  staid  with  her  until  her  husband  came 
home,  and  his  grief  at  the  loss  of  his  child 
and  the  sight  of  his  wife's  great  sorrow, 
seemed  for  a  time  to  have  a  softening  and 
sobering  effect  upon  him,  and  I  could  not 
but  hope  he  would  conquer  his  evils  and  be 
the  noble  man  he  was  capable  of  being,  but 
my  hopes  were  in  vain ;  he  was  soon  worse 
than  ever. 

At  the  time  of  their  marriage  all  her 
large  fortune  had  been  unreservedly  placed 
in  his  hands,  and  it  soon  became  evident 
that  he  was  fast  squandering  it,  and  at  the 
same  time  it  was  almost  impossible  for  her 
to  obtain  the  money  needed  for  the  expenses 
of  the  family.  No  appeal  from  her  availed 
anything,  and  at  last  want  threatened  to 
stare  her  in  the  face. 

In  the  bright  happy  days  of  the  past,  she 
had  often  amused  herself  and  her  intimate 
friends  by  writing  and  reading  short  sketches 
of  home  life,  full  of  quiet  sweetness,  and 
now  without  much  hope  of  their  being  ac  - 
cepted,  she  sent  some  of  them  to  the  editor 


32 


of  a  popular  magazine,  and  to  her  grateful 
surprise  they  were  accepted  and  well  paid 
for,  thus  taking  away  the  fear  of  immediate 
want,  and  bringing  to  her  the  hope  of  future 
success  with  her  pen,  a  hope  which  was 
verified,  for  her  welcome  to  the  world  of 
readers  was  phenomenal,  and  the  new 
friends  she  made  were  warm  ones.  At  the 
time  when  want  had  the  most  nearly  con- 
fronted her,  she  had  sold  some  of  her  jew- 
els, and  left  Chicago  for  New  York,  and 
with  what  she  was  earning  from  her  writ- 
ings, was  living  very  comfortably  there  with 
her  little  girl. 

It  was  soon  known  that  the  reckless 
husband  had  squandered  away  their  united 
fortunes,  and  now  with  the  loss  of  wealth 
came  also  the  desertion  of  the  false  friends 
who  had  robbed  him  of  his  money  and  his 
manhood,  and  he  began  to  cause  his  poor 
wife  much  trouble  and  mortification.  He 
did  not  hesitate  to  apply  to  her  for  money, 
seemingly  dead  to  all  sense  of  honor. 
Rather  than  have  the  disgrace  of  his  pres- 


33 


ence,  for  he  was  almost  always  under  the 
influence  of  liquor,  she  several  times  gave 
him  money  on  condition  that  he  went  away ; 
but  she  knew  it  would  be  impossible  for 
her  to  continue  to  do  so,  and  having  an 
opportunity  offered  her  of  going  abroad  with 
an  elderly  lady  who  wished  a  companion, 
she  concluded  to  do  so,  begging  of  me  as 
she  bade  me  "Good -bye/'  to  see  if  I  could 
not  influence  her  husband  to  a  better  life. 

I  promised  her  I  would  do  all  I  could  for 
him,  and  meeting  him  on  the  street  the  day 
after  she  had  sailed.  I  invited  him  to  go  on 
a  little  excursion  with  me  into  the  country, 
although  I  must  confess  I  was  ashamed  to 
be  seen  in  his  company.  It  was  a  quiet, 
lovely  place  to  which  I  took  him.  and  night 
and  day  for  two  months  I  watched  over  him. 
and  kept  him  from  temptation  of  every  sort. 
After  the  first  fortnight  he  was  ready  to  use 
what  little  self-control  he  had,  and  second 
my  efforts  in  his  behalf.  At  the  end  of  the 
two  months  he  was  in  a  fair  way  to  become 
again  the  lovable  man  of  his  earlier  days. 


34 


and  to  still  further  strengthen  his  powers  of 
resolution,  he  decided  to  place  himself  in 
the  care  of  a  physician  who  had  a  small 
hospital  located  in  the  village  in  which  we 
had  been  staying,  and  stay  there  until  he 
felt  sure  he  could  stand  alone.  The  evils 
arising  from  his  wicked  self-indulgence 
were  brought  plainly  before  him,  the  grief 
and  shame  he  had  caused  his  lovely  wife, 
and  her  faithfulness  in  refusing  to  apply  for 
the  divorce  she  might  easily  have  gained, 
were  all  brought  plainly  before  him,  as  well 
as  his  need  of  strength  from  heaven  if  he 
would  really  conquer  his  evils,  and  it  was 
pitiful  to  see  the  thorough  abasement  of  the 
once  proud  man.  . 

Some  of  the  true  friends  who  had  known 
and  loved  his  father,  and  had  watched  his 
career  with  pain,  rallied  to  his  aid,  and  it 
was  found  a  little  could  be  saved  from  the 
wreck  of  his  fortunes;  and  so  encouraged 
and  upheld  till  he  could  stand  alone,  he 
struggled  on,  and  at  last  stood  once  more 
erect  and  in  his  right  mind. 


35 


In  the  meantime  Mrs.  Allan  had  not  only 
found  her  duties  as  a  companion  pleasant, 
but  had  gained  a  standing  as  a  writer,  and 
life  was  tranquil  if  not  happy.  We  encour- 
aged her  by  the  tidings  of  her  husband's 
efforts  for  reformation,  but  I  do  not  think 
she  realized  the  full  extent  of  what  was 
being  accomplished.  The  lady  with  whom 
she  went  abroad  died,  and  so  she  decided  to 
return  home.  It  was  now  autumn  and  Mr. 
Allan,  who  had  started  in  business  the  pre- 
vious May  with  a  safe  partner,  was  anxious 
to  have  a  home  ready  in  which  to  welcome 
her.  Of  course  it  was  far  from  being  as 
fine  in  its  appointments  as  their  former 
one,  but  it  was  comfortable  and  pleasant, 
and  with  the  aid  of  some  of  his  father's 
friends  he  had  been  able  to  secure  some  of 
the  treasures  from  the  old  home,  those  he 
knew  she  prized  the  most. 

Her  letters  betrayed  her  dread  of  the 
home-coming,  much  as  she  desired  to  come, 
and  as  for  Richard  he  was  almost  beside 
himself,  but  never  more  manly  and  lovable. 


36 


I  did  not  feel  at  all  sure  how  she  would 
meet  him,  for  she  was  a  very  proud  woman, 
and  he  had  wounded  her  heart  to  its  inmost 
depths ;  but  I  could  not  but  hope  all  would 
end  well. 

He  had  chosen  to  go  into  business  in  the 
city  where  was  my  home,  so,  as  he  said,  he 
could  come  to  me  for  comfort  and  advice, 
and  the  home  he  had  made  ready  was  near 
mine.  When  the  time  came  for  the  steamer 
to  arrive  he  accompanied  me  to  New  York ; 
but  I  could  see  he  shrank  from  a  public 
meeting.  uIwill  stay  here,"  he  said;  ushe 
may  not  be  glad  to  see  me,"  and  so  I  left 
him  at  the  hotel,  and  went  alone  to  the 
wharf.  Perhaps  I  looked  too  anxious,  for 
he  smiled  as  he  said  earnestly,  "Don't 
worry  about  me,  I  shall  be  helped  whatever 
comes;  I've  learned  to  lean  on  a  mightier 
arm  than  my  own." 

I  had  never  seen  Mrs.  Allan  look  more 
lovely  than  when  she  came  down  the  gang- 
plank, and  when  she  glanced  behind  me  as 
if  expecting  some  one  else,  the  look  of  dis- 


37 


appointment  that  crept  over  her  face  told 
me  that  all  our  hopes  would  be  realized.  I 
longed  to  speak  a  word  of  encouragement, 
but  my  lips  were  sealed,  and  during  the 
gathering  together  of  her  baggage,  the  in- 
terview with  the  custom  officers,  and  the 
driving  to  the  hotel,  the  conversation  was 
never  once  allowed  to  flag. 

I  explained  that  we  would  go  to  the  hotel 
until  the  hour  for  the  train  we  were  to  take, 
as  she  could  rest  better  there,  and  she  asked 
no  questions.  As  we  approached  the  door 
of  the  room  where  I  knew  her  husband  was, 
my  heart  almost  stood  still  with  the  intens- 
ity of  my  feelings.  I  opened  the  door,  and 
when  she  caught  sight  of  her  husband,  his 
face  all  aglow  with  the  love  and  hope  which 
filled  his  heart,  with  a  low  cry  of  joy  she 
was  in  his  arms.  I  softly  closed  the  door; 
the  scene  was  too  holy  for  mortal  eyes.  The 
journey  home  was  very  pleasant,  and  the 
new  home  opened  its  doors  to  welcome 
hearts  whose  gladness  was  beyond  the 
telling. 


38 


Years  have  passed  since  that  day,  and 
the  home  that  was  then  consecrated  has 
become  the  center  of  an  ever -increasing 
and  uplifting  helpfulness  to  the  tempted, 
the  sorrowful  and  the  seeker  after  holiness. 


